"It is the same boat, and they are shooting at the Sprite with a big gun!—they are trying to sink it!—Daddy must be diving!—I cannot see him!—He would shoot them all if he were there!—Oh! Oh!"—and she beat the wheel of the Titian frantically with her delicate hands as if to drive it faster. As they drew closer another cannon shot boomed above the quiet sea like a knell of death.
At that instant the little girl's face changed to that of a raging woman of fearful determination. Her eyes burned and glittered, a wild fierceness unseated her gentle youth and femininity.
I don't care to witness such fierceness often—it's terrible to see in human beings. The delicate, innate, refined child disappeared, and the calm, stolid determination of a maddened woman came to view. I shall never forget this picture—it was sublime. She instantly planned.
She steered past the bow of the Sprite, scanning futilely for signs of her father, then brought up with reversed engine within fifty feet of the Boche boat, and asked me to hold steady there. In an instant she had lifted one of the seats, grasped something, and disappeared over the side as smoothly as a seal.
Two men on the Boche boat came to its bow to see what was going on, but, being unarmed, I made no move, divining what she was doing. I could hear three jubilant voices; a shot hole in Canby's Sprite was visible just above the water line. They knew it had passed out below on the other side. One of the men shouted, "She is sinking!" then added, "Better give her another shot to make sure." Then came another order to get the rifles ready for Canby "when he comes up." As if suddenly realizing there might be danger in a launch stopping so near them, three or four men faced about to look us over.
I recognized among them at once the thick waistband and heavy jowl of the leader—and, yes, there was the bandaged hand just as Scotty had described.
"What's this?" he said in perfect English. "We can't leave anyone to tell tales. We'll take no chances. Better swing around and give this one a shot, too—the rifles will not sink her.
"What do you want here?" he asked insolently, when he saw me trying to shrink up to invisibility under the cowl of the Titian.
I did not have time to answer, for a thin hand grasped the other side of the boat and the little girl came over the side holding the ends of a double insulated wire. With the savage gleam in her eyes she then without hesitation applied the two ends to separate poles of the battery. This done, she looked directly at the Boche with the bandaged hand, not more than fifty feet away, who stood much puzzled by her appearance from nowhere.
A fearful explosion immediately followed that carried the bow of the enemy ten feet in the air, falling back instantly as though seeking the quickest route to oblivion.